You've got an exquisite eye for character and charm. This sweet little brick home is what they call an English Tudor. I never noticed it, nestled in downtown here. Nestled, not the real estate verb. No. Nestled, in the truest sense-settled or lying comfortably within something. You'll see what I mean in a couple months.
Your price was right. Your timing was perfect. Your terms were ours. As I write this, nearly a year before we meet, I know who you are and I know what I need to know about you in order to let this home go.
That room to the left when you walk up the stairs, the first one, not the pink one. That's my son's room. Years ago, I was a single mom to this baby boy in a low income apartment complex couple hours north. A home. A HOME was beyond what I had courage to pray for. A home is a lot. An entire house and the land it rests on, that's a big thing to ask for. That room looks yellow but it was supposed to be a beigey tone to match this pinterest picture I'd found. He was almost three when I painted it. I was 8 months pregnant, so those lines at the top of the ceiling where it's not cut in so great were because my belly poked against the wet wall too much for me to get a good grip. My center of gravity was just enough so that I could climb the rungs to paint. I meant to touch it up, as I saw it every night putting him to sleep, lying with him in that full size bed with the dinosaur bedding you saw when you toured the home, until he fell asleep.
My husband tore the carpet up in his room and I handled the tack strips and hundreds of staples, painted the trim and window sills, took down the doors. Everything I tore up in that room-in this entire house restored a part of ME.
When we got the keys to that custom rounded door, I knew I'd not leave until Jesus called me home. There was certainly enough for me to work on in here until then with the 7 different types of flooring in here that we have refinished to the originals. But as our family grew, and our needs were more realized, it came time to have THE TALK. Which was had in that yellow but supposed to be beige room while I was painting, and it felt like the wind was knocked out of me when my husband said, "Well, when we move out one day..."
We agreed on ten years then. A little more reality sobered us and it was five. And now finally, it is in 8 months, spring of 2019.
Before we moved in, I would sometimes come over with my 2 children and just spend time in here. I wasn't able to do a lot construction wise with zero tools, one toddler, and one baby, and pregnant, but I could sit. Finally, when the dark brown carpet was torn up before move in day, I got to spend an entire Saturday individually scrubbing every single plank of flooring in the living and dining room. Every inch passed through my hands. Years of dust and dirt scrubbed in silence. As a child, I'd never had a home. I'd lived in a grandmother's house, a couple of trailers, an apartment, a doublewide that belonged to my stepdad which we moved into, and then several apartments afterwards. But I'd never had a home. Getting to touch every plank of the floors that were laid 80 years ago, it felt like a reunion of sorts. The piece of me that had ached all of my life, was given back to me. It...came home.
My favorite flowers happen to grow in the front by the mailbox. A gorgeous pink plant creeps up the side, and it was always meant for me to notice it.
The five of us people and 2 dogs would be bursting at the seams of this home if it had them, but those gently coved ceilings hug every scream and tantrum and laugh, in a safe embrace.
About that pink room-and I know you saw the pink room. I painted it about a year ago from the time you're reading this, it was the first bedroom my then two and a half year old girl had ever had. Every day she saw me paint, she'd dance and sing about her pinkalicious room. When I revealed it to her, the joy and gratitude on her face wasn't something I could ever bring myself to cover up with a neutral tone. So on the one hand, sorry about that. But on the other...you find it a little endearing. I can tell because I know what kind of person buys a home like this.
I did NOT do that moose wallpaper in the bathroom. However, the stuff cracked me up so much to have pictured someone seeing that and squealing with a eureka! home interior moment. It kind of grew on me as a quirk.
I pried some decorative tiles off the fireplace the first summer we were here with a butter knife. And about that kind of ugly kitchen...I can explain...but I know you don't need it. You love the floors and they redeem much of the amateur designer choices I've made. Red Mahogany. If you needed the stain color for the upstairs. I don't know what you're going to do with that Hot Wheels car sized garage, or the huge oil tanks downstairs, but I reckon you'll figure it out. You're going to LOVE Moses and Maria next door. When she is making tamales and pico, she will sound like she's asking you if you want to come eat, but she's TELLING you, you will go eat. Go. Colleen to the north whom you share your fence with is going to ask if she can give your dog a treat, she's sweet. When people ask where you live, all you have to do is ask them if they know where Kevin and Sue used to live, and they'll know. A doctor built the home, and I think it's really fitting given how healing it has been for me to live here.
I want you to know we brought a baby home here. I cried on my face to God in the master bedroom here for my baby. I've danced and prayed in every inch of the home. We celebrated an adoption of that baby boy who will be five when you read this, to my husband. We have had a first school year here. A lot of firsts here. A lot of BIG things here I got to live out the life I envisioned in my head for all of my years, in a home of my own, even if for just a while. I got to do my dishes or not do them if I wanted. I got to demolish a whole kitchen. Rearrange furniture and bed times. I got to do everything I wanted in a home. And now there's just one thing left to do. Leave.
Sweet homeowner of the little English brick Tudor, I've prayed for you. I entered this home a little broken, and when I close that big, heavy, round door for the last time, it'll break me in a new way. I LOVED your home. And it's my prayer that when you walk into this home and air out the lingering pieces of us, that your own healing begins and that you love it too.